


Let Me See It

by asexualshepard



Category: Masquerada: Songs and Shadows (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Relationship, cicero has a very blatant crush, idk uh, kalden is large and gentle, or blatant to us i suppose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 23:25:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8597908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asexualshepard/pseuds/asexualshepard
Summary: Cicero has been fidgeting with his burned hand.





	

“You’ve been fidgeting.”

Cicero doesn’t start at Kalden’s voice, like he once might have, but he does fold his hands in an obvious attempt to keep himself from doing precisely that of which the Mariner had accused him.

“Have I? I’m afraid I hadn’t noticed,” he states while Kalden pulls out the stool beside him, sets his large frame down with a surprising amount of grace.

Kalden sets his gaze on Cicero’s face and holds out a large hand, palm up, eyes demanding.

“Kalden–”

“Let me see it.”

A moment passes, slow and almost like a dare of some kind, before Cicero sighs and relents. His right hand flips, left going to the small buckle at his wrist and tugging the leather strap of his glove free, plucks at the fingertips until the palm slides up and off, baring his slightly clammy skin to the world. His stool grates against the stone flooring as he scoots back, and then he sets his hand in Kalden’s, stomach fluttering as he notes the warmth of the Mariner’s skin.

“It’s no different than it was,” Cicero mumbles.

Kalden ignores him in favor of pulling his hand closer, warm breath ghosting over the still mildly sensitive scar tissue stretched along the back of his palm. Shiny and pink, Cicero knows it should look–and feel–worse than it does.

“You should let it breathe,” Kalden mutters, smoothing both of his thumbs over the damaged skin. “You’re not doing it any favors by keeping it covered.”

“But the glove ties this whole uniform of mine together.”

Kalden graces that with nothing more than a chuckle and a soft smile, but that’s enough to have made it a worthy response, in Cicero’s eyes. The smile remains as Kalden continues to rub his thumbs across the back of Cicero’s hand, poking and prodding as if testing the skin slowly turning into something… less surgical, less routine.

Something twists in Cicero’s chest.

“Kal,” he starts, “is everything alright?”

Seeing such a large man’s edges soften so suddenly still catches Cicero off guard, though it shouldn’t, at this point; he’s seen Kalden like this in some shape or form more than any other.

“Yes,” Kalden says. “More than alright, Inspettore.”

Cicero nods his understanding, though he feels like something in those words goes right over his head and he has no idea how to even begin to catch it. In the same breath, Kalden’s thumbs stroke the burgeoning scar in a way Cicero almost dares to call intimate, and whatever desire he held to try and grasp the thing now somewhere behind him vanishes.

“This isn’t going to fade much more than it already has. You’re going to have to make up a more entertaining story for it.”

Cicero hums. “The real one is worthy enough, I think.”

A flush as gentle as the man himself quickly spreads across Kalden’s cheekbones. “‘I stopped a Talios from immolating himself’ is hardly glorious.”

Cicero huffs a parody of laughter and kicks Kalden’s boot. “Glory has nothing to do with it, Kal.”

The flush spreads to his ears, and Kalden clears his throat. “No,” he says quietly, voice slightly wavering, “I suppose not.”

Kalden refocuses his attentions on Cicero’s scar, cradling the hand in his own wide palm and tracing a fingertip across the warped skin, accenting dips and grooves in a way that sends Cicero’s heart galloping in his chest. And then he’s released. The beating against his ribcage, however, continues.

“You may be getting tired of hearing this from me,” Kalden says, “but thank you, Cicero.”

Cicero opens his mouth to make a quip of some kind, but Kalden stands before he has the chance, legs of his stool groaning as they’re pushed along the stone floor, effectively interrupting Cicero’s train of thought.

“Let it breathe,” he says, stepping to Cicero’s side and placing a large hand on his shoulder. “And no scratching.” And, with a gentle squeeze and a soft look, Kalden walks away to attend to whatever duty he had broken from in order to sit and talk.

Cicero’s glove finds a new, temporary home tucked into his belt.

 

**Author's Note:**

> On the off chance that this is actually read by anyone: thank you! I hope this short, short little thing was at least somewhat satisfying. I love this game, and I love this pairing, so hopefully this finds other people in a similar boat. 
> 
> If you're interested in some gorgeous artwork, you should check out my dear friends [@losebetter](http://losebetter.tumblr.com/) and [@queen-schadenfreude](http://queen-schadenfreude.tumblr.com/). Both of them have drawn GORGEOUS things for this game, and I've taken quite a bit of inspiration from them. 
> 
> If you want, you can find me on Tumblr as [@asexualshepard](http://asexualshepard.tumblr.com/). Come say hi, and thanks again! <3


End file.
